


Twisted Virtue

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fanfiction, Love Triangle, M/M, Mage, Romance, Shapeshifting, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While dreaming in the Void, Anders has the rare opportunity to be with the embodiment of his tortured friend, Justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted Virtue

It had been a long time since he had actually _dreamed_. Anders was so accustomed to the fade, so used to wending its often times confusing and more often times _dangerous_ pathways that it seemed second nature to him. To _dream,_ though, with only Justice there with him, was a comfort unlike any he had ever known. 

He could sense, though, that his friend was troubled. Likely he was warped by Anders own anger and desire for vengeance, but it seemed that Justice was only _worried_ for him. Anders sat with him, and watched the Spirit drift in and out of his view, an incorporeal being who longed for an incorporeal world. It hadn’t been fair, what had happened to Justice, what had happened to _him_ … But Anders was long past believing life could ever be fair. 

“You dream of him more and more,” Justice murmured, and Anders looked at him sharply. “That boy that speaks of nothing but mages and their Evil. I try to understand what you could possibly see in a Beast such as him, but I _can not_ understand it, Anders.”

“If I dream of him, it’s only because he inspires so much anger in me,” Anders defended. He did not trust Justice’s voice; he had always sounded so strong and confident, but now he sounded… diffident. He sounded almost _jealous,_ and Anders could not understand what could make the Spirit feel that way. “Fenris is---”

“ _Fenris_ ,” Justice bit, “Yes, that is the boy’s name. Such hatred and darkness inside of him, but he _feeds_ you. Emotionally, mentally…” Justice looked away from him, as though he were ashamed of himself, or ashamed of Anders. “ _Sexually_ ,” Justice said, sounding confused and angry, “I don’t understand it.” 

Anders wished he could have denied the Spirit’s accusations, but he couldn’t. He no longer remembered a night where he had not gone to bed cursing the elf’s name, loathing him and aching for him so terribly he hurt down to his bones. It was no surprise that Justice couldn’t understand his confliction; Anders himself couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. Fenris was everything that fueled his rage, everything that inspired so much drastic change in the Spirit he sat across from. His hatred of mages, his support of the templars and their abuses, his unabashed, careless _cruelty_ …

“Justice, I’m sorry,” Anders whispered, leaning closer to the Spirit. He reached out, meaning to touch Justice’s shoulder, and stopped himself. Even if he had been able to get a solid hold of the being, he doubted Justice would’ve appreciated it. “If I could change the way I feel, believe me I would. There’s nothing more frustrating than wanting someone… that way… And wanting to strangle them at the same time.”

“You humans are so fragile,” Justice muttered. That was certainly strange; Justice had _never_ muttered. He spoke in the strong, hearty voice only a being of singular purpose could possess. Justice, truth, honor… There had never been room for doubt before. Anders wondered just what he had done to his friend, how terribly he had perverted his noble spirit. “I had faith in you, Anders; faith that you would be the one to save your own kind. Instead you turn against them.”

“I’ve turned against no mage,” Anders snapped, “I do everything I can to protect them. I’ve sold part of my _soul_ for this, and nothing will stop me. But you’re right, I _am_ only human. I’m not immune to desire. But believe me when I tell you I desire _nothing_ more than the freedom of mages.”

Justice said nothing, only sat there, staring fixedly away from the mage. Anders wished he could prove to the Spirit how resolute he was at ending the oppression of his people, but he couldn’t. He could only do that by changing the way things were, and that was a process that could not be done overnight -- save for something truly catastrophic. 

“What is it about him?” Justice asked. “Do you find him attractive?”

“I, no, _yes,_ ” Anders stammered, “I _do,_ but that isn’t the point. He makes me feel alive.” Anders bit his lip before he whispered, “That’s something that no one has been able to make me feel in a very long time.”

Justice smiled -- a smile not without mercy and not without disapproval -- and looked to the mage curiously. “Alive,” Justice said, and the word came out in a sigh, “I do not know what that feels like, Anders. Before I met you, I had no desire to ever know. But---”

“Justice…,” Anders cautioned, “Please don’t.”

It was just as likely, however, that the Spirit was as incapable of controlling himself and his emotions as Anders himself was. _That_ was what Anders had done to his friend. He had taken a single-minded, _intangible_ virtue, and he had twisted it into pure, raw _desire._ Anger, jealousy, contempt, _lust_ ; they all stemmed from one desire or another. The desire Anders had to be seen as more than his curse, the desire Anders had for freedom, the desire he had for someone to love… The desire Anders had for someone to love _him_. 

All of these things burned -- mirrored -- in Justice’s unflinching eyes. 

Anders watched the face of his friend change. Shimmering, translucent skin became firm, tanned flesh. The eyes turned to dark jade, the hair to a short-cut and startling white that spilled across his dark brow and almost hurt Anders’s eyes. He watched the one being he had ever dared to call his friend _change_ , and inside of Anders, something changed with Justice. Some small, tender part of him that had been untouched by the abuses and injustices in his life simply ceased to be. Anders mourned the passing of that sweet thing, he mourned the passing of his _friend._

“How do you see me?” Justice asked. “I want to be all things to you, Anders. I want to see you win. If this will help steady your hand and strengthen your resolve---”

“My hand is steady enough,” Anders whispered, “And my resolve--- Justice, don’t do this.” Anders reached out -- noticing that his hand was not at _all_ steady, it trembled violently -- and cupped Justice’s cheek. “Don’t do this to me.”

The face under his hand was not the face of his friend; it was the Fenris’ face. The skin felt warm, if not a bit too smooth. It felt, in fact, the way Anders had always imagined it would. He could not explain the tangle of his emotions. He was angry that Justice would morph himself in such a way and deeply touched that he would go to such lengths to please him. Also, Anders found himself incredibly turned on. Imagine what he could _do_ with that body---

“This isn’t right,” Anders said, “Stop.”

“There is no such thing as right,” Justice murmured through Fenris’ lips. It was strange, deeply disconcerting, hearing Justice’s voice coming out of those lips. “You taught me that, Anders. There are some things that simply must _be_ … And this is one of them. You want this boy, you _need_ him. I cannot understand your heart and mind Anders, but I do understand that I care for you.” Justice laughed, or tried to, and shook his head. “Before you, Anders, I had no idea I could feel this way. That I could _feel_ anything other than the burn for justice. I am an ideal, but I have no power… My power comes from you. These hands are what will bring about the change you and I strive for.” 

Justice took Anders’s hands into his own and pressed them against his chest. Anders felt no heart beating under his palm, and he shivered. “Put your hands on me, Anders. On _him_. If this is what you need, take it from _me._ ” 

Anders shifted his hand up and cradled the back of Justice’s neck. The skin there was hot, almost _burning_ , and Anders felt himself trembling. “Maker,” Anders whispered, in a voice that was as tremulous as his body. He wanted to add _No_ , to tell Justice that he could not use him as a tool to bring himself some semblance of peace and balance. What came from his mouth, though, husky and choked, was, “ _Yes_.”

The wiry body pressed forward against him, and Anders grabbed a handful of Justice’s -- Fenris’ hair -- and crashed their mouths together. It must have startled Justice, because he tensed against Anders before he slowly relaxed, reluctantly pushing his tongue into the mage’s mouth. 

Anders had craved the elf for far too long to waste time with gentleness or finesse. He clawed and tore his way through the damnable armor and queer bodysuit -- damning Justice all the way for his apparent attention to detail -- and gripped any inch of flesh he could find. Justice groaned into Anders’s mouth, a sound that could have been manufactured but sounded and tasted _real._

His hand closed around Fenris’ cock, half-hard for him, and he pressed his thumb deeply against his cock head. Vision, illusion, dream-manufactured; none of it mattered. The wetness under his touch was real enough, as were the soft shivers that pulsed under the hot skin in his hand. Anders pulled his head back, searched “Fenris’” eyes for some sign of Justice, and found nothing but hazy passion. That was all right, was _good_ in fact. Sacrifice and obvious perversity aside, Anders was glad that he had the elf -- quite literally -- in his hands. 

Justice seemed just as impatient. Anders wondered if his friend could even go by that name, given what had happened to him, but his thoughts were interrupted as a hand gripped his rear and dragged him closer. Justice tipped his face up and traced his tongue over Anders’s lips, and for the mage there could be no more thinking. He melted into the Spirit, into the solid body of the elf, and he felt no fear and no shame. 

The passion was blinding, _dizzying._ Anders tried to stay focused, tried to relish every moment, tried to cherish each little shock of pleasure that wound its way through his body; but he couldn’t. The entire affair was a blur to him, as dreams so often were. He could remember only the heat and the need, the feel of nails curling into his back and thighs gripping his hips. He could remember, vaguely, a voice in his ear that was Justice and Fenris _both_ ; a voice that begged for _more_ , and _harder_ , and _deeper._

When it was over, Anders could do nothing but lie against the body Justice had provided him. Trembling, shaken, more than a little ashamed and disgusted with what he had done. Oddly satisfied though. It felt like he had drained some particularly hazardous poison out of his blood. For the first time in a long time, he felt as though he could be content with the choices he had made and the things he had done. 

“You shouldn’t have done that for me,” Anders whispered, tracing his fingers over dark skin. The lyrium brand glowed and dimmed, an ethereal lantern in the encroaching darkness. Anders closed his eyes and slid his fingers through the elf’s sweat -- a sweat he could _smell._ The vividness of the dream was not surprising, given his knowledge of the Fade, but Anders had never had a dream where he had been so _comforted_ by what he found. “Right or wrong don’t matter… But I never wanted to _use_ you.”

“No,” Justice said, “And I never wanted to be used. But this is the road you have chosen to walk, Anders, and this is the road I _must_ see you reach the end of.” There was a smile, somewhere, in the Spirit’s voice, tired and weak. “This boy cannot consume you. You have to let go of him.”

Anders knew that. He had _always_ known that, but even still, the sting of the words was harsh and cruel. Again, it wasn’t fair, and again, Anders knew that life could _never_ be fair. Not for a mage, not for _anyone_. 

“He is a dangerous man,” Justice warned, “Dangerous and _infectious._ His hatred is almost _tangible_ , Anders… And I worry for you.”

“He would sooner see me butchered than anything,” Anders whispered. That truth, too, stung deeply. But because it was the truth Anders could not hide from it. 

“Yes,” Justice agreed.

“Then I will… I will see that he _never_ wins,” Anders said, hiding his face in Justice’s throat. The sweat there stung his nostrils, sharp and acrid, and he could smell _Fenris_ in that sweat. The scent, instead of arousing his desire, aroused his rage. “I will see that he watches as the mages and all who want to see them freed set Thedas to burn.”

“If it comes to that,” Justice said.

“Oh it _will,_ ” Anders growled, “There can be no change without _blood. They_ make it that way.”

Justice’s voice held a stronger smile now, one that Anders found infectious. 

It felt cold on his lips, though.

Almost inhuman.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Title:** Twisted Virtue  
>  **Word Count:** 2,173  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Warnings:** Nudity, sexual content  
>  **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age II and all related characters (c) Bioware
> 
> Actually, this came about over on the Dragon Age kinkmeme at LJ, but I sort of messed up the original prompt and... this is what happened. >__> Oops! I'm still fond of it though. Justice/Anders. <3


End file.
